Right
by TheVanishedGirl
Summary: This is a propaganda like story, for one of my political causes, so I'm sorry if it's terrible. Nothing makes me angrier then people who say that it is OK if someone was raped based on other factors in their life such as their clothing or drinking or anything else, so this story reflects that. Alex and Olivia friendship. Sorry. I can't write romance. Again, sorry if it sucks.


None of the cases at the 16th Precinct, SVU were cheerful in any way, but this one was particularly dismal; a young drug addict, raped in an abandoned building. She had been very brave reporting, and her entire story had checked out, and led to the arrest of a local football player. Detective Olivia Benson and ADA Alexandra Cabot had encouraged her to testify, which she had done. It all had gone as well as a case like that could, until the cross examination. The defense counsel for Frank Anderson had brought up every bit of of wrongdoing or potential wrongdoing ever on the nineteen year old victim, Mary Triston that he could. Alex had been able to successfully object many of his questions but the damage had been done. The jury now had a tainted, biased view of the victim.

Alex and Olivia had offered as much support as they could to Mary but it was no use. They got the news the next morning, just as they came into the squadroom.

A young uniformed officer brought it, though they knew what it would be before he said it.

"Miss Cabot, Detective Benson," he began nervously, "I got a call this morning. My boss said to inform you. It's Mary Tristen. She's taken her life." Olivia cursed. Alex sighed. It took a little bit of time to absorb the news.

"You know, we had a good chance of conviction," Alex said, bitterly.

"This happens too often," said Olivia, shaking her head. "These girls, or boys, even, come forward. They've been abused, violated, often tormented in multiple ways. They, very understandably, have a hard time telling a straight story, so they're destroyed during cross examination."

Alex nodded. "They're supposed to be laws protecting them, but you saw what happened with Mary. The jury became biased. You would think that only an upper west side socialite could be assaulted."

"This sucks."

That afternoon Frank Anderson was released. Without a witness, there was no case against him. Mary Tristen was buried behind St. Michael's church. The detectives of the 16th precinct, and Alex Cabot were the only mourners beside one very tired, very old, priest. The teenager was added to the seemingly endless list of almost nameless victims, destroyed by the press, and by the court of public opinion. Too many of them went the same way as Mary.

"We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men

Leaning together

Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!

Our dried voices, when

We whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless

As wind in dry grass

Or rats' feet over broken glass

In our dry cellar"

_TS Elliot

That night, in her apartment, Alex Cabot put down her book in thought. She was always thinking about something or another, whether it was a particularly helpful point in a case or closing argument or an idea of some ancient philosopher or ethicist. She did not always, in fact she almost never shared her personal thoughts, but she was always thinking.

She couldn't get Mary's face out of her head and she wasn't entirely sure why. Most people close to her, though, admittedly, there wasn't many, knew she wasn't quite as cold as she appeared in court or during an interrogation. She might not be nice, but she had empathy. A lot of it. But Mary in particular, got to her. She couldn't help but blame herself, a she often did, for Mary's death. She should have warned her better, should have done more to object to the other attorney, should have done _something_. Alex sighed, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. There would be more Marys. That she knew. But she also knew that next time there was one, she would not go the same way. Alex felt a conviction for that. And nothing or no one got in the way of Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cabot's convictions, in any way, shape or form.


End file.
